


Paper Thin Walls

by muchofeels



Series: How A Mistake Lead To The Best Thing Ever [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Bad Cooking, Cooking, First Meetings, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3638409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchofeels/pseuds/muchofeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well,” Jamia pushed her glass up and pulled her mouth to the side. “You’ve got a wide variety in here. Skinny jeans, skinny jeans, and skinny jeans are your choices for pants. What do you want?”<br/>He sighed. Maybe he should update his clothing. “The uh- black ones.”<br/>The denim came hurtling towards his face.<br/>“As for tops, we’ve got a black and white jumper, a red plaid button up, and about four thousand hoodies.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Thin Walls

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't hate this. It's sorta cute??? I think I may turn this into a series of some sort. You guys tell me, would you be interested in reading other things from this universe? Of this story line?

How the _fuck_ can someone even be joyful in the morning? Frank had no idea but he was starting to think that maybe he should ask the guy in the apartment next to him because the walls in this shitty building are less than paper thin and he can hear him singing at the top of his lungs every morning at 6:30 a.m.

It isn’t even that he’s bad- it’s just way too fucking early for that shit. Because talentwise, his neighbour is much better than half the singers in the bands he listens to and all the ones that MTV have been playing for the last decade.

Frank doesn’t know any of the songs that the man in the flat over belts out, and when he googles the lyrics he can’t seem to find any kind of hint that would let him learn the song so that he could learn it. That kinda stings. If he can’t learn the songs on his own, and he’d really like to because the lyrics are impeccable, then he’ll just have to learn them by ear.

The sound waves break through his consciousness every morning at the same time and soon Frank finds that the alarm clock next to his bed is so out of it’s job.

After two weeks of listening harder, he finds that he knows most of the words to the songs that his neighbour sings.

Frank finds that he’s humming along, quietly mumbling the next lines into his coffee mug, or even mouthing them as he shampoo’s his hair in the shower.

One morning, when depression is eating at his mind at a faster rate than usual, Frank presses his ear to the wall just to get a better listen. He can tell by the tempo in which the other male is humming that he’s about to, unbeknownst him, treat the eavesdropper to one of his favourite songs.

“ _In the middle of a gun fight,_ ”

And Frank, stupidly and without thinking, sings the next line just as his neighbour would. “ _In the centre of a restaurant,_ ”

The next line is late, but when it’s sang it sounds closer than it did before. “ _They say,_ ”

“ _Come with your arms raised high._ ”

“ _Well they’re never gonna get me,_ ”

“ _Like a bullet through a flock of doves._ ”

“ _To wage this war against your faith in me,_ ”

“ _Your life… will never be the same._ ”

“ _On your mother’s eyes, say a prayer… say a prayer._ ”

“ _Now, but I can’t-_ ” They both screamed at the same time. And that’s when Frank realised what had just happened.

“Oh my, god.” He sighed.

“So, I assume I’ve been keeping you up?” Asked the man on the other side of the wall, embarrassment was dripping from the words and if Frank could see him he was sure he’d be blushing bright red.

“No! No I-” He sighed and attempted to think of a way to explain the situation but seemed to be at a loss for words. “Do you wanna come by tonight for dinner? Ya know, so that I can apologize for my utter disrespect and eavesdropping?”

His neighbour giggled. Actually fucking giggled and it was somehow a sound even more beautiful than his singing voice. “Yeah, I’d like that. 6:00 good?”

“Perfect.”

“Alright. Off to work, I’ll see you then.”

Frank heard the door slam and he was tempted to race out into the hallway to catch a glimpse at his future date, but ultimately decided to leave his appearance a mystery and wait for this evening. Plus, he was only in his pajama pants and a worn out black shirt that he thought had a band logo on it once, but was much too worn to be able to make anything out except for a disheveled looked “A.”

He eventually pulled himself away from the wall, wanting to punch himself for everything he’d done this morning.The singing was awful. Seriously, what the actual fuck compelled Frank, the quietest guy in high school, voted most shy by his third period class in seventh grade, the disowned child of the Iero family, to sing back to Mr. Lyrics next door? He had no fucking clue.

And oh my, god! Why did he invite him to dinner? Sure, he’d never seen the guy, and yeah, this _was_ a way to make up for the incident that transpired between them, but if his physical being was half as attractive as that voice, he was way out of his league. Shit, even without the looks that Frank just _knew_ he possessed he was out of his league.

While his mind found new way to make him want to whither away and die, it dawned on the twenty-four year old that he literally had nothing but condiments and microwave dinners in his fridge. His pantry was doing much better either.

He quickly dialed Jamia, a close friends, number.

“Hey Frank!” She called cheerily when she picked up.

“You know the guy next door I’ve been telling you about?”

“Mr. Songs? Of course! Why?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Long story. Come grocery shopping with me and I’ll tell you.”

She agreed and thirty minutes later, was standing at his doors, cheeks burned pink thanks to the harsh New York air.

“Wait, you _sang back_?”

Frank winced at having said it out loud and having Jamia repeat it. “Yeah…” He admitted shyly.

“And then you invited him to dinner at your place even though you can’t cook worth shit?”

“Thank you for your encouraging words, Jamia. I am feeling 100% more confident about this whole situation.” He mumbled sarcastically.

“Oh come on! It could’ve been worse. Stop worrying so much.”

Frank glared at her. “Wow! No more nerves! Anxiety cured!”

“No need to be so rude.” Jamia frowned, dark fringe falling into her eyes slightly.

The look she was giving him made guilt surge through his body. She was right, it could’ve been worse. The man could’ve been angry with him, or even threatened him. But he didn’t. Instead, he agreed to come to dinner to let Frank attempt to make amends.

“Fuck, Jamia. I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Her expression softened at his words and placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a comforting fashion. “It’s alright, I know you’re nervous. And it isn’t very fair of me to just tell you to get over this. I mean, before our first date I was a wreck.”

“Yeah… I was, too.” He laughed.

“But I was better at hiding it.”

Both of their smiles grew at the memory. Back in like, eleventh grade, before Frank came out to his parents, Jamia and him dated. She was the sweetest person alive and if Frank was straight, there was no doubt in his mind that the two would’ve gotten married.

Jamia was also the first person that he’d told about his sexuality. He expected her completely alienate him, but she did the exact opposite. In fact, things got better between the two of them. And when shit went down with his parents, when they disowned him and left him to his own devices, Jamia was the one who let him move in with her until he got back on his feet.

And now here she was. saving the day once again.

“Alright,” She began, game face on when they entered the grocery store. “First things first. What do you wanna cook?”

“Uh- Well, I’m vegan so… stay away from-”

“Frank, I know you better than I know yourself, no need to give me an autobiography. How about spaghetti?”

He nodded. That sounded safe.

They purchased the things necessary for preparing dinner and then headed back to his apartment.

“Have fun on your date!” She called as she turned towards the door.

“Wait!” Frank shouted. “I- I don’t know what to wear…”

“You’re not helpless.” Jamia laughed.

He kept his eyes on his feet which were tapping relentlessly. “Maybe not… But I’m nervous as hell and I can’t- I can’t-” The brunette took a deep breath and pushed some hair behind his ear. “I can’t do this sorta thing.”

Luckily, the glasses clad female in front of him took pity on the him and pulled him into a hug. He gripped onto her tightly.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” She said as she yanked open his closet door.

“Well,” Jamia pushed her glass up and pulled her mouth to the side. “You’ve got a wide variety in here. Skinny jeans, skinny jeans, and skinny jeans are your choices for pants. What do you want?”

He sighed. Maybe he should update his clothing. “The uh- black ones.”

The denim came hurtling towards his face.

“As for tops, we’ve got a black and white jumper, a red plaid button up, and about four thousand hoodies.”

“I haven’t worn the button up in like, a year.”

“Well it’s the perfect time to put it on again, huh?”

He took the flannel from her and stared it, “I guess.”

“Frankie,”

“Yes?”

“You need your meds?”

Frank tore his eyes away from the article of clothing in his hand and let them settle on his long time friend. He studied her for a long moment, feeling a tad guilty at all the intensity he knew he was putting behind it.

“No, no I’m fine.” He finally mumbled. “Just- it’s been awhile since I’ve gone a date.”

Again, Jamia pulled him into a hug. “You’re gonna be so good. And he will literally fall in love with you.” She mumbled. “I mean, I did. You know that.”

He nodded as she pulled away.

“Now get dressed and do your hair. It’s almost 6:00.”

***

When a knock rattled the door, Frank felt it in his stomach. He felt his anxiety swelling up inside of him like a volcano that was getting dangerously close to exploding, but he knew that he’d have to answer the door sooner or later. With all the courage he scraped off of his insides, Frank shuffled to the door and willed it open.

His jaw dropped.

“Holy shit…” Frank mumbled.

The man at the door had a lopsided smile on his face, fiery red hair that hung over his eyes and brushed against his shoulders, and a figure that any woman would kill to have. His jeans clung to his hips nicely, exaggerating the curves and he wore a shirt and leather jacket that hung over his shoulders. Frank had seen a lot of people in his short life, plenty of men he’d thought he could describe as “gorgeous” or “beautiful,” but looking at the specimen in front of him, it felt silly to think that there were other people who could even _try_ to match his beauty.

The other corner of his mouth turned up into a full grin, no teeth, but was magical. It sent Frank into a head dive into the pool of love and he didn’t even care if he broke his neck when he collided with the water.

“I’m Gerard.” The redhead finally spoke, so much clearer than the muffled voice he’d heard through the wall this morning.

Sighing dreamily, the brunette took the outstretched hand and shook it, loving how the others soft flesh felt against his calloused palms. “Frank. How ‘bout you come in.”

“You’ve a lovely singing voice.” Gerard, as he’d just recently learned, laughed.

“Oh my, god.” Frank instantly pulled his hands up and used them to cover his face. “I- I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t mean to-”

He was interrupted by the laughter coming from the other man.

“It’s fine, really. I didn’t realise that the walls were so thin. If I had I wouldn’t have been singing- I have an awful voice.”

At that, Frank snorted. “An awful singing voice? You? Are we both talking about you?”

Gerard raised his eyebrows, wordlessly questioning what Frank meant.

“It’s just- I love it. I think it’s beautiful to wake up to. I look forward to hearing you sing.”

The taller of the two flushed a bright pink, a colour that brightened his hazel eyes even more and managed to make his pale cheeks look even smoother.

The silence that transpired between the two of them agitated Frank and made him fidgety, but he was at a loss for words at the moment. How could he not be when the spawn of fucking Aphrodite or some other goddess was standing in his apartment.

Gerard was so beautiful that he made the room look so much more dismal. The cream coloured walls that Frank never seemed to mind too much suddenly took on a moldy look, his ceiling which was perfectly fine three minutes ago seemed like it was cracked and peeling. In fact, everything within Gerard's vicinity looked so… ordinary next to him.

The sight caused the shorter man to smile a little.

Gerard cleared his throat and dipped his head down, looking up at the brunette from under his lashes. A seemingly innocent gesture that made Frank’s knees go weak. It also brought it to his attention that he was staring and probably looking creepy as fuck.

He too, cleared his throat and scurried to the kitchen to get out of the tension filled room. But it seemed like the heavy air followed the delicate man around because as he followed Frank to where their food was cooking, he felt the room heat up- not just from the boiling water either.

He stared down at the sauce and began to panic. Did Jamia say two tablespoons of sugar or salt? Frank glanced to his hand which had the directions and ingredients on it. But they had began to sweat the second Gerard walked into the room.

 _What the fuck does this even say? Is that a two or a twelve?_ He squinted at the numbers and letters.

Frank decided to go with his gut and poured twelve tablespoons of salt into the sauce which immediately began to bubble up- just like his nerves.

He moved his attention to the noodles. Now, Frank may not be a chef, but something about the food did not look right. The noodles were all stuck together. He groaned and spun around to face his date.

When the redhead noticed that he was being looked at, he stood up a little straighter and smiled. “You play guitar?”

Frank’s eyes shot to the instruments in the corner. “Yeah, I was  in a band- well, a few actually.”

“I’d love to hear some things before I leave. Or- or next time.”

 _Next time._  Frank thought, letting a blush creep up his spine. Gerard wanted to spend more time with him. Maybe this wasn’t going as bad as he thought.

The brunette turned and drained the noodles which had morphed into a ball. He chewed his lip and cut it in half, placing one half on a plate and the other on another.

The sauce was definitely going to make up for this.

It looked great, smelled even better, and Frank was sure that he’d done everything right.

He spooned some of it out and drizzled it over the noodles.

“Okay,” He quietly mumbled to himself as he grabbed two forks. “Here you are. Dining room is through there.”

The two of them made their way to the table and Frank, being as gentlemanly as possible, pulled Gerard’s chair out for him.

The gesture earned him a shy smile and a “Thank you.”

“Oh, let me get some drinks. Uh, you want….?”

“Water is fine.”

Frank nodded and dashed off to get the glasses.

When he returned, Gerard was sitting just as prettily as before. Feet twisted together at the ankle, back curved beautifully as he leaned forward, hands folded over his mouth as he waited for his host to come back.

The sight was earth shattering and Frank was mentally thanking himself for being so stupid this morning and singing back. But the more he thought, the less stupid it sounded.

He placed the glass in front of Gerard and smiled. “Please, dig in.”

Gerard twisted, very tryingly, some noodles onto his fork and guided it to his mouth.

The second it touched his tongue, Gerard’s face twisted up and he swallowed hard, taking a large gulp of his water immediately.

Frank watched as the liquid slid down his throat and he then took another, longer, drink.

“It’s- It’s really good.” He lied, lips tight in an obviously fake smile.

The cook stared for a moment and then took a hesitant bite.

“Oh my, god.” He choked, shamelessly spitting out the contents of his mouth into his napkin.

“I am so sorry.” Frank cringed and buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t- I want to cry. I-” He looked at his hands and stared at his sloppy writing. “I thought it said _twelve_ tablespoons of _salt._ ”

“Shh, hey,” Gerard reached across the table and rubbed the other male’s forearm comfortingly. “It probably said _two_ tablespoons of _sugar_. But it’s no big deal. I’m not dead. You aren’t a chef, are you?”

With is face still hidden, Frank responded with, “Unless you count microwave dinners and take out as cooking, not one bit.”

Gerard giggled and gently squeezed his arm. “That’s fine. That’s what my diet is, too. I know this great pizza place, alright? How ‘bout we order from there and then you can play me that guitar of yours while we wait. Then we can watch a movie.”

The tone of his voice was soft and comforting and it sounded so sweet that Frank just _had_ to look up to see if his facial expression looked as kind. It did.

“Yeah, that sounds good. But I’m paying!”

“But-”

“Gerard,” He loved the way his name sounded rolling off of his tongue. “I could’ve killed you. It’s the least I can do.”

 


End file.
